


Not So Bad Chances

by raspberrylimonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Addams Family References, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M, Matchmaker Scott, coach is still here because that man is a legend and will never leave, lydia can't use twitter cos holland, stiles never uses twitter cos dylan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrylimonade/pseuds/raspberrylimonade
Summary: Stiles finds out that the students ship him with another teacher, Lydia.





	Not So Bad Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lydiastxles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiastxles/gifts).



> Hello everyone, this fic is for Fer aka [lydiastxles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiastxles/pseuds/lydiastxles). Happy birthday Fer! Have a good one.

 

It started with Scott dramatically dropping his takeout box onto his desk unannounced.

“I see why you never use Twitter any more,” Scott said as he flopped into the seat without looking up.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I told you, Scott, nobody sees your homework reminders. It all gets drowned out in the other random stuff they talk about on there.”

“I stopped tweeting about homework last semester,” Scott informed him. “Which you would know if you still went on Twitter - do you even remember your password? - but be glad that you don’t.”

“I have been very glad for the last three years, but now I’m intrigued.”

Scott fidgeted in the chair, much like the students who had sat there on occasion. Stiles watched him, eyes not leaving his friend’s face as he forked his pasta. Scott was nervous to divulge whatever information he had, but he had come to Stiles on his own accord, which meant eventually he would cave on his own.

Finally, Scott sighed. “You know those jokes about us teachers matchmaking students with the seating arrangements?”

“Mmhmm,” Stiles answered through a mouthful of food. “Beineke and Addams are obviously into each other. I’m just waiting for one of them to make a move.”

“I’m surprised no one has figured out what you’re up to yet,” Scott chuckled, “but it’s not about that.”

Stiles had shoved another forkful of his pasta into his mouth, so he only raised his eyebrows and waved his fork for Scott to continue.

“Well, some students have found a match for you too.”

Stiles choked on his pasta, maybe too dramatically.

“Now that is just rude,” he said between coughs. Scott handed him a bottle and he gratefully accepted.

“We’ve been students before. We can’t pretend to not know what they do,” Scott pointed out. “Remember Coach’s girlfriend -”

“That we  _ completely made up, _ Scott, and  _ kept to ourselves, _ yes I remember.”

Scott finally started opened his takeout box and started picking at the grains inside. “Believe me, I’d rather not know what they get up to.” Then, very casually, he added, “At least you can be honoured that the match they’ve found for you is Lydia.”

Stiles spat out his noodles mid-slurp.

* * *

It was not that he lied to Scott, but he really had not given a thought to his Twitter account in years. The app was still on his phone but had not been used, only taking up storage space.

Back to his password. It was not hard to recall. He should have been ashamed, honestly, of the simplicity. “Let’s go Mets” followed by his birthday, no spaces. Anyone who knew him well enough would have guessed it in a second (so Scott and his dad, basically.)

It did not take him long to see what the students had been saying about him and Lydia. It was not  _ bad _ . He was really flattered that they thought he could score someone as  _ beautiful _ and  _ amazing _ and  _ talented _ as Lydia Martin, high school and MIT valedictorian who was taking a break in her research at Stanford to look into STEM outreach.

They had even found an old photo of him and Lydia dancing at their senior year homecoming. He should have been more disturbed by the fact that they had dug his class’ yearbook out of the school archives just to look him up, but the photo was  _ cute _ . Lydia had her hands on his shoulders, his on her waist, and she was smiling up at him. If he had known that photo existed, he would have ordered a copy of his yearbook.

He remembered that night with absolute clarity. It had been one of the best of his life. The lacrosse team was on a winning streak. He and Scott were aceing their classes. And he had finally worked up the courage to ask Lydia for a dance. She had accepted gracefully, because by then she had become Lydia the queen, not Lydia the queen bee of freshmore years. It was one of the best nights of his life.

The photo was not the most mind-blowing thing, though, no.

Apparently, Lydia Martin was interested in him.

That was how the whole thing had started. Someone from Lydia’s AP Physics class went to the office to ask some questions and overheard her telling her mother, over the phone, that she liked his humour and she “wouldn’t mind if he asked me out.” The kid went on to break the news in several bunches of 140 characters and the rest was history.

Stiles and Scott had always joked about how they were back in high school again, but now Stiles really felt the way he was back in high school. Ever since they became colleagues and reconnected, he and Lydia (and Scott, of course) had developed a great rapport. Lydia was now his  _ friend _ , not the popular girl that he, the lowly geek, chased after. He could strike up a conversation with her at any time of day, send jokes to her over text, say hi to her in the hallways. He did not need to feel nervous because of her, and yet here he was, once again, nervous.

It sounded pathetic, that after all this years he was back in highschool and still crushing on the same girl. But to be fair, Lydia had only gotten smarter and more beautiful, so could you really blame him?

* * *

 

When Lydia slid into the space next to him during their lunch break the next day, Stiles could just feel the looks they were receiving from the entire student population. He imagined them giggling behind their hands or raising their eyebrows suggestively.

He squirmed in his spot and earned himself a look from Scott. Next to him, Lydia did not notice how jittery he had become, still taking her belongings out and rearranging them neatly on the table.

“I have a proposition,” she said. Stiles almost spat out his apple juice.

Lydia carried on, oblivious to his predicament. “Tonight, after the game, we go to the drive-in two miles out and mourn your loss by watching b-films.”

“I resent the assumption that we will lose,” Scott retorted.

“Are you saying because as assistant coach you need to pretend to have faith in your players, or are you just woefully optimistic?” Stiles asked, tilting his juice box to his friend.

“There’s no need to pretend,” Scott stressed, and proceeded to rattle off all the training they had done and each player’s improvements since the last game.

Lydia primly took the lid off the little case she kept her utensils in. The action drew Stiles’ attention to her hands, and he noted at the back of his mind that she had painted her nails a new color, pale pink.

“No offense to your coaching skills, Scott,” Lydia said, “but our lacrosse team isn’t the same as during our era.”

_ Our era _ . Something about the way she said those words made Stiles’ heart skip a beat. It also reminded him that Lydia had seen  _ him _ play lacrosse back in the day. She had seen him flailing and shrieking on the field. That could not have been a pretty sight.

He tore thoughts away from the woman next to him as Scott started speaking again.

“And yet you two still come to every game,” Scott was saying.

“You think we go to watch them play?” he joked. “We’re just here to check out your ass while you yell at people.”

Scott turned faintly pink and mumbled, “I don’t  _ yell _ at them.” But Stiles’ attention had been stolen back by Lydia.

Lydia, who had  _ chuckled _ . He turned to see her pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, her laughter escaping through her nose in short puffs. She grinned at him when she felt his eyes on her and he quickly turned back to Scott with a bewildered expression.

* * *

 

“Dude she actually likes my jokes.”

“Wonder why.”

“She enjoys my company.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“If I asked her out she would say yes.”

“Still don’t see the problem.”

“Lydia likes me, Scott. What do I do?”

“Ask her out?”

“Did you just hear any of what I just said?”

* * *

 

“I don’t want her to think I’m just doing it because of a rumour,” Stiles rambled as he followed Scott down the hallway. Classes had just ended and the two were headed back to their offices. Scott had to get ready for the match while Stiles had assignments to mark.

“Lydia’s the most inactive person on Twitter next to you,” Scott informed him. “Actually, I’m not even sure she even uses it, because all I see from her are automated tweets whenever she reviews something on Goodreads. The point is, I don’t think she knows about the rumours.”

“Fine, but what if she does? Or what if the kid who started this heard wrong? And she actually says no and ruins our friendship forever? Or she says yes but I screw things up and she doesn’t like me anymore? So many things could go wrong. The chances of this ending well are lower than the chances of this school winning the game tonight.”

Scott paused in his tracks and angled his body to face Stiles’. He put on a look of mock offence.

“We  _ are _ going to win the game tonight,” he insisted.

Stiles swore Scott McCall was born without any pessimistic or realistic gene in his body. And yes, he was talking about a  _ biology _ teacher.

“Come on, Scott,” he insisted. “Even if the team is really becoming that great, they are winless in their last six games - ”

“Four of those were  _ ties _ \- ”

“ - and you’re going up against the title favourites this season. The odds are still stacked against you.”

“Alright,” Scott said, coming to a halt outside his office. “If we win, you have to ask Lydia out.”

“Really, Scott? If you really wanted me to do something you wouldn’t bet on the lacrosse team,” Stiles replied, exasperated. “It’s almost as if you don’t want me to ask her out.”

“Right there. Right after the game,” Scott added.

Stiles waved his arms around disbelievingly. “You are a terrible gambler,” he stated.

Scott fixed him with a challenging gaze. “Deal or no deal?”

Stiles sighed. “Deal,” then, as he headed off alone down the hallway, he muttered, “even though it’s pointless.”

* * *

 

“Greenwood is one of the toughest teams in the conference, which is why you must fight extra hard, alright? Some of your teachers have bet on you.”

Scott nodded towards Stiles and Lydia sitting in the bleachers, and then winked at the team. A couple of the students merely nodded, but those who got the joke grinned.

“That was unprofessional, McCall,” Coach said, walking up as the players ran onto the field. “Using your players like that? Stilinski needs to man up whether we win or not.”

Scott stared at the older man in shock. “You knew?”

Coach frowned at him. “How unobservant do you think I am?” he yelled indignantly. “Stilinski was never subtle ten years ago, and he still isn’t now. S’gotten worse, I’d say.”

He then stalked off, yelling some last-minutes criticism at the players.

Scott gaped at Coach’s back in disbelief, then gave one last look at the pair in the bleachers. Stiles was offering Lydia his jacket.

He shook his head and smiled to himself as the whistle blew.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe it.”

Stiles stood in the bleachers, clapping robotically as parents and students celebrated around him. Someone’s banner smacked him in the face, and when he pushed it out of the way, Alec Wayfare, a sophomore in his history class was running up to him.

The boy stopped at the bottom of the bleacher, which was clearing out as people spilled onto the field. He grinned up at Stiles. “Hey Mr Stilinski,” he called. “Have you done it yet?”

Lydia, who had gotten over her shock and had been cheering happily, turned to him. Her brows were furrowed in the cutest way.

“Done what yet?” she questioned.

The boy opened his mouth to speak, grinning devilishly, but Stiles quickly shooed him off.

“That little rascal,” he muttered.

Lydia smacked his arm. “He didn’t do anything!”

“Oh not him, Scott,” Stiles told her.

“What about Scott?”

Her confused face was back again, brows furrowed, painted lips slightly pouted, and Stiles’ heart started thumping in his chest. He turned to the field, only to find Scott watching them, surrounded by half the lacrosse team and a handful of other students who had somehow caught on.

He groaned internally and turned his whole body to face Lydia’s, taking her hands in his.

“Lydia Martin,” he started, “do you want to drive out and celebrate our completely unforeseen and miraculous victory by watching b-movies? With me? On a date?”

The grin that split her face as she nodded was enough to make him think,  _ maybe this  _ might _ just end well _ .

**Author's Note:**

> An y way, that Addams Family reference is so painfully obvious but ugh Lucas and Wednesday...I should write about them some time...
> 
> I am [raspberrylimonade](raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com) on tumblr and [stlnskissmartin](twitter.com/stlnskissmartin) on twitter!


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